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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29834667">All of the Embers Fell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalaleska/pseuds/lalaleska'>lalaleska</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>All the Embers Fell [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anxiety, Bruises, Christophe Giacometti Being Christophe Giacometti, Cuts, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Sex Positive, Sex Work, Sex Worker Positive, Sexual Abuse, Strippers &amp; Strip Clubs, otayuri - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:33:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,482</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29834667</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalaleska/pseuds/lalaleska</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuri thinks he has it all figured out: he works as a stripper, turns tricks on the side, and has his friends behind him in case anything goes south. What he doesn't realize is the impact things going south would have on him. </p><p>[AU Otayuri; sex work positive; see tw/cw in Notes]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>All the Embers Fell [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2193360</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>All of the Embers Fell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey, friends! I've been turning this story around in my head for quite some time, and I'm so happy to finally be done and share it. I will say, it's not the happiest of stories. There are definite <b>major trigger/content warnings</b> for sexual/physical assault and abuse, anxiety and panic attacks, and physical wounds/tending to physical wounds. It's otherwise pretty tame given the concept and setting and is mostly rated for content and language. I tried to make sure I did as much as I could to make this very sex-worker positive; absolutely no comments that are anti sex work will be tolerated or kept. </p><p>As always, comments and kudos are highly appreciated and keep me thriving!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What I wouldn’t give to worship that ass night and day.” </p><p>Yuri turned his head and gave an unbothered look at the man who spoke. Eyeing him up and down, he could see that the gentleman had probably come from his day job at a desk. He’d clearly been there a few hours: his tie was slack around his neck, sleeves rolled up, practically panting at him, no doubt from the amount of liquid courage he’d downed during his time there. The blonde smirked, smugness evident in his eyes. </p><p>Yuri got off on the power he felt being up on stage while meaningless, thirsty men like this trick gawked at him from below, especially in the middle of a performance. He was nearing the end of his current set and was down to a velvet black thong spattered with faux crystals and thigh-high heeled boots. His element was on a stage, bass in his veins, the sounds of hoots and screams and whistles thrown at him from below giving him life. There were plenty of people who thought he was subjecting himself to being an object, but they were dead wrong. Yuri wasn’t a cog in the sex work machine; he <em> was </em> the mother fucking machine. </p><p>Tricks like this didn’t bother Yuri anymore; they’d barely bothered him to begin with. He only recently realized that compliments adjacent to these that came from older men when he was in his early teens were highly unacceptable. He nearly made his therapist faint with how nonchalantly he spoke about the clear verbal–and sometimes physical–sexual abuse he received as a kid. From an uncomfortably early age, even the women around him seemed to obsess over his body, picking apart his lithe figure, his blonde hair, his blemish-free skin, cooing, “What a perfect body you have, Yuri.” </p><p>Despite how inappropriate it all was, after a few years, it got Yuri thinking. Conversations about finding the right career and moving on to secondary education didn’t faze him. The seed had been planted from an early age: why move on to a mind-numbing job in a cubicle when he could use his body to his advantage? </p><p>He pursed his lips and glared down at the John. The SOB was nearly watering at the mouth. Squatting down, Yuri stuck one finger under his chin to lift his jaw up. The guy was shaking; Yuri scoffed. Grabbing his face and bringing his ear closer to him, Yuri yelled over the music, “You can, for the right price,” before letting go, pushing him back by his forehead, and sashaying back down the stage to the pole at the other end. </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Minutes later, Yuri appeared backstage to raucous applause from the club. Despite his lack of clothing, he was layered in a thin sheen of sweat. Close to the wings, Mila appeared with a towel, robe, and bottle of water. </p><p>“You’re a literal angel,” Yuri crooned, graciously taking the towel first to wipe himself down. She shrugged, handing him the robe after he tossed the towel in a bin off to the side. </p><p>“That new routine is really something,” she said, nodding to assert her statement. “Those boots new?” </p><p>Yuri smirked and wiggled, preening at the praise. “Fuck yeah they are. Remember that bozo trick from the other night? The one with the oversized shoes and mismatched tie and shirt?” He took the opportunity to take a swig of water, Mila nodding as they headed into a dressing room. “He paid me my all night rate and then paid me <em> more </em>to make fun of him all night. It was fucking heaven. How many people can say they bought sexy stompy boots by calling a man’s dick small and pathetic for 6 hours?” They both cackled, causing the others in the dressing room to look up as they entered. </p><p>“What are you two clucking hens laughing at now?” Christophe asked after turning back, mostly unamused, to his image in the mirror. His costume for the evening was as flashy as ever—a bright purple satin sleeveless top, encrusted with crystals and made to look like a button down with a blazer on top, and ass-hugging matching pull away pants. Yuri was certain the thong underneath probably matched as well. </p><p>“Don’t worry about it old man,” Yuri shot back. Chris rolled his eyes and continued to apply his eyeliner. </p><p>Yuri perked up when he spotted Otabek in a corner, chatting with one of the new dancers. He was sitting backwards on a chair, arms resting on the back of the chair while his legs straddled it. He was always in some combination of a black shirt and black pants, but he made it look like he’d invented bouncer chic every day. </p><p>Something about the way Otabek was smirking and the dancer was giggling like a 14 year old girl sat heavy in Yuri’s stomach. He decided to saunter over. If his robe slipped off his shoulder a little, he wasn’t complaining. </p><p>“Beka!” Yuri called to get his attention. Otabek turned, shooting a smile toward the blonde. He sat back and opened one arm to welcome Yuri into their customary hello hug. Yuri wrapped his arms around the other’s neck, letting Otabek wrap his arm around the blonde’s waist. He smirked and looked the other dancer up and down, appraising. </p><p>“Ah, I’ve gotta get ready to jump on stage. Talk soon?” She said to Otabek, who nodded before she shot a look at Yuri and walked out. Yuri stuck his tongue out behind her. He felt a flick on his rib cage and looked down. Otabek tsked at him but smiled. </p><p>“Now, now, Yuri, treat the new dancers nicely.” </p><p>“I don’t have to do shit. She looks like a bitch, anyway.” </p><p>“You sure you aren’t projecting?” Otabek’s tone remained cool as ever. Yuri mock gasped and grinned, shoving Otabek’s shoulder playfully. </p><p>“At least I know I’m a bitch. Some people go around never realizing how much of an asshole they are.” Otabek unfurled himself from Yuri’s side to stand up, and the blonde almost immediately slunk an arm around his neck and into another hug. From across the room, Phichit and Christophe scoffed; it had become second nature to watch Yuri hang off of Otabek night after night while the bouncer tried to keep his poker face on. </p><p>“Yuri, you lined anyone up yet for tonight?” </p><p>Yuri glanced across the room at Phichit. The Thai man was already done for the night, cleaning his face of stage makeup and dressed back in sweats and a hoodie. Yuri guessed that meant he was taking the night off. </p><p>“Not yet, but I think I may have a few offers when I head out by the bar in a bit.” </p><p>“I managed to snag some fool in an Armani suit,” Mila cut in, pride in her voice. “Looks like I’ll be using the one-percenter menu tonight.” </p><p>“You love to assume rich men will pay more for less, Mila,” Christophe teased, a daring twinkle  in his eyes. Mila shot him the finger. </p><p>“He’s already agreed to my nightly price plus more, so talk shit again when I leave with over twelve hundred dollars in the morning, grandpa.” There were ‘ooh’s and claps from around the room. Chris and Mila glared at each other for a moment before Mila stuck her tongue out and Chris blew a kiss at her. Yuri rolled his eyes, grinning the whole time. </p><p> </p><p>--- </p><p> </p><p>Yuri wasn’t sure what he’d done to earn this small found family. They’d all started working at Heaven or Hell nightclub within a few months of each other. Mila had immediately chosen to be a partner in crime to Yuri when he first started, but she acted as a maternal figure more often than not. Phichit had joined a few months later, and Chris was there before all of them. The camaraderie they found was impeccable. Up until that point, Yuri had thought finding good people to be friends with was nearly impossible. </p><p>The club’s owner, a filthy rich Russian named Victor Nikiforov, was lax in his rules around his employees, making the atmosphere even more inviting. Dancers were also expected to work as waitresses of sorts when not dancing, getting drinks for the patrons and chatting them up. Given the nature of that work, Victor had thought it prudent to only hire the most menacing of security guards for his team; he couldn’t have loose, drunk men harassing his dancers. The place was known for its strict ‘look, don’t touch’ policy; anyone who even thought about touching the dancers was unceremoniously removed and banned. </p><p>It was a lucrative arrangement indeed; there were few other places where dancers felt as comfortable and protected as those at Heaven or Hell. Still, each in their group of friends lamented the lack of money they all needed for some reason or another. It was Chris who’d brought up, without missing a beat, that they could make excellent cash by running a side business of their own. </p><p>They’d each been intrigued by this idea and had come up with what they considered a fool-proof system: they let each other know when they were going out turning tricks for the night. They each had an app on their phones that showed the others their locations and allowed them to send out a distress signal at the push of a button. Their Sex Work Squad, as they called themselves, would help them get the extra money they wanted <em> and </em> stay safe. </p><p>It was after a scary situation Mila had almost found herself in that they decided they needed another factor in the equation. Muscle would help anyone who decided to fuck with them learn a lesson quickly. It was Yuri who found the perfect candidate in Otabek—he was strong as fuck, with big arms and a toned stomach and legs. He’d started at almost the same time as Yuri, and they’d taken to each other like bees to honey. He agreed to act as their protector of sorts for a cut of each of their nightly earnings. They all had seen Otabek at work; when he had to deal with troublesome customers, he was ruthless. The minute someone knew Otabek was at their beck and call, cruel-intentioned Johns would run. </p><p>The day they’d made their arrangement, Yuri missed the part when everyone mercilessly teased Otabek. </p><p>Chris had barely waited for Yuri to leave the room before he ripped into Otabek’s very psyche in that way he had an uncanny knack for. He huffed out a laugh under his breath before speaking up. </p><p>“Otabek, you’re such a slut for Yuri, you know you’d do this shit for free if it meant having even a small part in making sure his <em> extracurricular activities </em> stay safe,” he said, giving a knowing smirk and glance through the mirror. Otabek had remained stoic save for the tinge of red in his cheeks. </p><p>“For real, Otabek, don’t try to convince anyone that you’re not smitten with him,” Mila chimed in. He remained silent on his part while the others chattered around him. </p><p>“It’s cute how you take on this kind of nonchalant protective stance when you’re on the floor and Yuri is serving. Not that you wouldn’t hand a John his own ass for us, but I wouldn’t wanna fuck with Yuri with you on duty.” They each took turns giving him smug looks while Otabek tried to come up with a way to defend himself. When he couldn’t and left silently, they’d all snickered. Mila had called out, “Your secret is safe with us!” </p><p>Otabek couldn’t lie; they were right. </p><p>He knew very soon after he met Yuri that he would do any number of things to see the blonde smile, though he never did feel like he could do anything about it.</p><p> </p><p>--- </p><p> </p><p>“Well, <em> that </em> was easy,” Yuri boasted as he busted into the dressing room one evening. He’d just finished a set and was free to go home for the night. </p><p>It had only been Mila and Otabek in there, chatting quietly. Mila looked up from her place at the mirror. “Score?” </p><p>“Yup. Had to cut across the floor to talk to Victor, and the John stopped me on the way back. Told me he’d pay my all night rate no questions asked.” </p><p>“So you obviously told him your rate is twice what it normally is.” </p><p>“Clearly,” Yuri answered, smug. “He’s handsome as fuck. Young, too.” Otabek visibly twitched at that; if Yuri noticed, he didn’t say anything.  “A nice change of pace from some of these old bastards.” </p><p>“Lucky, lucky. Where are you going?” </p><p>“Motel on 6th.” </p><p>Mila scrunched her nose. “He doesn’t even have the decency to take you back to his apartment or something?” </p><p>Yuri waved her off, moving behind a partition to change out of his outfit and into his street clothes. “It happens sometimes, for whatever reason. I don’t give a fuck who he has at home as long as he pays me in cash.” Mila hummed in return. Otabek just listened to the exchange in silence. </p><p>Yuri stepped back out into the room, decked out in black skinny jeans and a crop top. He’d left his stage makeup on and returned to his mirror to touch it up. </p><p>“App on?” </p><p>Yuri rolled his eyes. “Yes, <em> mother </em>. App is on, location is on, speed dial is checked, etcetera. I’ll be fine.” He finished applying lip gloss with a smack of his lips, then grabbed his bag. Mila verbalized an exaggerated ‘mwah’ when they kissed cheeks in a farewell. He turned to Otabek, allowing himself to be enveloped in a hug. </p><p>“Be careful out there, yeah?” Otabek smiled down at him. Yuri beamed, winking at him. </p><p>“Always am! Later, losers.” And with that, he flounced out the door for the night. Mila turned back to Otabek. Sometimes his energy left the room feeling like a tornado had passed through. </p><p>“I worry about him sometimes.” </p><p>Otabek, not expecting this sentiment, blinked but then slowly nodded. “He can take care of himself. And he has us.” </p><p>“I know that. I just wish he had a better sense of radar about him when he goes out for the night.” Mila sighed and went back to applying her eye makeup, thoughts still preoccupied. Phichit burst in, then, Chris hot on his heels, and Otabek went back to his post. </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>3 AM to 4 AM at a strip club was like being in purgatory. </p><p>Time moved like molasses, unrelenting in its meandering toward closing time for the club. Only a few customers were left, each of them ordering more and more drinks. Otabek liked to refer to them as the night crew; he watched each of them drown their various sorrows in a mostly empty  club while also getting to look at the dancers, who were almost always unenthused to be working the late shift at a strip club. </p><p>Georgi was in his usual place at the front getting things ready to wrap up for the evening when the door opened. He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the latecomer. When he glanced up, he squinted his eyes at the hoodied, dark figure. </p><p>“Feel free to come in, but we’re closing up in 45 minutes,” he said, choosing not to pay too much mind. </p><p>“It’s me, Georgi.” He squinted again, trying to get a look at the shadowy face. </p><p>“Yuri? The fuck you doing back here so late?” </p><p>“Don’t worry about it.” Yuri paused. His voice was low, quiet–uncharacteristic, but Georgi was too tired to care. “Is Otabek still here?”</p><p>Georgi looked down at the schedule in front of him. “Yeah, he’s on the floor.” </p><p>“Can you call him here for me please?” </p><p>“Christ, what am I, your servant,” Georgi complained under his breath even as he grabbed his radio. “Otabek, lobby, please.” He looked back up, but Yuri had moved off to the side, shuffling his feet, his hands shoved into his pockets. </p><p>A moment later, Otabek appeared. He looked to Georgi, who nodded his head Yuri’s way. Confused, Otabek headed over, sensing something wasn’t quite right. </p><p>“Yuri…?” When he didn’t answer, Otabek reached out to touch his arm. At the contact, Yuri snapped back, looking up into Otabek’s eyes. His hood had fallen back, putting a large shiner on display along with a variety of small cuts. Immediately, Otabek’s expression fell.  </p><p>“Fuck, Yura, are you okay?” He could see the tightness of the blonde’s face. Despite the lack of visible emotion, he could see a river of feelings in his eyes. He reached out again, making sure Yuri saw his hand reaching for his so not to startle him again. </p><p>“Come on. Let’s go to the back.” </p><p> </p><p>--- </p><p> </p><p>Despite it technically being his workplace, Yuri always felt comfort in the dressing rooms at Heaven or Hell. It’s what allowed him to breathe a little easier as Otabek guided him into the chair in front of his vanity. When he went off to find a first aid kit, Yuri tried to focus on his things. The photo strip of him and Mila from the local mall. Green, purple, and gold beads hanging off the side of his mirror from the recent Mardi Gras celebration at the club. A variety of eyeshadow palettes haphazardly strewn across the tabletop. The smudge of his name written in bright pink lipstick across the top of the mirror that he’d done on a whim months ago. </p><p>He huffed. That almost felt like a lifetime ago, now. </p><p>The anxiety started to creep back up on him when Otabek reappeared with a tell-tale white box in tow. </p><p>“Sorry, I couldn’t find it. Had to ask Victor, but I kept it vague.” Yuri just nodded. Otabek pulled a chair close to Yuri, then moved some of his makeup out of the way to set down the box. He turned his attention to the blonde. He still hadn’t said a word. </p><p>“Yura...what happened?” </p><p>Yuri pursed his lips at this, keeping his gaze down. He desperately didn’t want to cry. He had his hands in his lap, nervously twisting his fingers around each other. Otabek reached out slowly, again making sure Yuri saw what he was doing, and held onto one of his hands. It was ice cold. </p><p>“Yuri, please. I just want to know if you need help past what I can do from a first aid kit.” Yuri considered this, then shook his head. </p><p>“No,” he finally answered. He sounded far away. “I’m okay. Just...my face. And my arms, I think.” He finally pulled his hood off, baring his face to the bright buzz of the lamp on his vanity. </p><p>The skin under his right eye was swollen and deep red and purple. His pale skin was otherwise blotchy, stained red in some places. Several small knicks were in mirrored places at the bottoms of his cheeks—something deliberate, almost creepy. Yuri silently pulled his sleeves up, showcasing a number of burns along his forearms. They were small and only barely red, as if done by a lighter flickered on and off up his arms. He hissed as the fabric dragged against his skin. </p><p>Otabek looked over his injuries while a mounting anger built inside of him. He’d never let it show outwardly; Yuri didn’t need an outburst in the condition he was in. Letting the conversation die down, he got to work, browsing the first aid kit for antiseptics and burn cream.</p><p>“That fucking John.” </p><p>Otabek looked up at Yuri’s muttering. </p><p>“He did this to you?” </p><p>Yuri nodded lightly, anger rising in his eyes. </p><p>“He looked normal. Just another suit in his 30s looking for a fun time for a night. He was handsome, charming. A perfect gentleman up until we got into the motel room,” he started, then stopped, abruptly. Otabek tended to the cut marks on his face while he waited for him to continue. </p><p>“It got so bad so fast, Beka,” he continued. His voice was small again, far away, as if he had retreated into himself. “He was a sick fuck. I can’t...I don’t remember so much of it now and I’m so mad at myself for it, but he just turned. I think it was sex fueled...like he needed the violence to get off.” </p><p>Otabek had stopped, wanting to give Yuri his full attention. The blonde paused again, looking down at his hands. He was shaking his head slowly, contemplating internally. </p><p>“Yura...why didn’t you let us know? I would have been there in a heartbeat.” </p><p>Yuri’s head continued to shake. “It’s...it’s one thing to say you’re gonna do it and another to actually reach out and do it. I wanted to do it. I knew I should. But my phone was on the other bed, and I was kicking myself for it, and I just—” he stopped, shutting his eyes tight. </p><p>“I was so scared, Beka.” </p><p>This was not Yuri. Yuri was brash, bold, willing to tell anyone off. He’d even likely rough someone up if they were particularly troublesome. The fact alone that Yuri admitted he was scared...that told Otabek everything he needed to know about the trick he’d been assaulted by. </p><p>He continued to attend to Yuri’s wounds, moving his focus to the burns on his arms. He found that the burns were very surface-based; the burn cream and some bandages would suffice. Otabek was relieved Yuri didn’t need to go to a hospital. He knew that even if it was necessary, Yuri would make a scene about going.</p><p>Then again, based on the way Yuri was acting, Otabek wasn’t so sure that would be the case. </p><p>Otabek decided to take a look at Yuri’s swollen eye last. He’d given the blonde an ice pack to hold to it while he worked on his other wounds, and with a gentle touch asked him wordlessly to lower the pack. The swelling had gone down a little, but the colors were darker, swirling in bruising patterns. </p><p>“Okay if I get a little closer so I can take a look?” Yuri nodded, staying silent. The older man inched forward, using one hand against Yuri’s cheek to steady him as he took a look. </p><p>Yuri tried to keep his gaze downward, embarrassed by literally everything happening. This fucking guy—his wounds—crawling back to the club...though that was the first place his feet started to take him. No way in hell would he try to go home just for this creep to start to follow him. It was 2 AM and he was a roughed up prostitute; he was sure no one would give a shit about him if he ended up at an ER or, worse, a police station. Cops would arrest him more quickly than they’d give him any help. </p><p>When he remembered that Otabek was working a closing shift, it became a no-brainer. </p><p>That didn’t mean he wasn’t upset about it. No, he knew Otabek might even have a negative reaction to what had happened, given their system that he had failed to use. But what he said was true: in the moment, terrified for his life, his phone a few feet away, the prospect of trying to get help even discreetly was too much for him. Especially when the guy—</p><p>Nope. He didn’t want to think about it right now. </p><p>When Otabek started looking at his eye, Yuri could feel the heat in his skin from the proximity. It was too much. Just an hour before the John had been up in his face, and Otabek was <em>Otabek</em>, but he was so close, and everything about this night was <em>supremely fucked up—</em></p><p>He backed away abruptly, his chair skidding against the floor and falling backward as he got up. </p><p>“<em>Fuck.”  </em></p><p>Running his hands through his hair, Yuri paced the center of the small room, needing to get the anxiety out. Otabek, to his credit, stayed neutral; this was, after all, a much more Yuri-esque response. </p><p>“How fucking <em> dare he </em> slink in here and get one of us to go with him just to play those sick fucking games? I mean he asked about more <em> extreme </em> kinks but I assumed they were the normal kinks, not fucking <em> sexual and general assault</em>. And I said—“ Yuri let out a frustrated groan and went silent. It wasn’t long before tears finally found their way down his cheeks. </p><p>“I said <em> no</em>,” he sobbed. Otabek sprung out of his chair to him, taking the sobbing blonde into his arms. Yuri, his head buried in his hands, let himself fall into Otabek’s chest and finally let out the wall of emotion he’d been desperately trying to hold in. Otabek put his hand flat and spread out on Yuri’s back, a steadying, solid weight to let him know he wasn’t alone. </p><p>They stayed that way for a long while, Yuri letting his emotions through and Otabek just holding him, every so often whispering affirmations in his ear. His wave of emotions slowed over time, until he was just sniffling against Otabek, hands limp at his sides. With a deep sigh, he pulled back, crossing his arms across his chest and moving back toward his vanity. </p><p>“It really makes me think…” Yuri started, then hesitated. Otabek settled back into his chair as Yuri curled up into his, pulling his knees up to his chest. </p><p>“I always felt safe before. Like nothing could really hurt me, even in this line of work. And after this...I just wish there was another way. Not even for me. I could manage making less money than I do now. But…” </p><p>“Your grandfather.” </p><p>Yuri hadn’t even shared with Mila the fact that his pay from both the club and their side work mostly went toward his grandfather’s medical bills. They grew up poor—were still poor—and his grandfather had mounting health problems and bills. The man raised Yuri, and Yuri loved him fiercely. Once he saw how much money he could rake in doing what he did, he knew he had to stay. </p><p>The blonde nodded and continued. “It’s not like I can do anything else. What the fuck would go on my resume? ‘Graduated high school with a 1.6 GPA, went directly into sex work, highly qualified in shaking ass and milking money from sex-hungry men?’ I’d never make this money doing anything else.” Yuri pulled his knees in close, holding his arms around his calves tightly and resting his head on his knees. He closed his eyes tight. He’d give anything for this night to disappear, an anomaly he’d never have to consider again. </p><p>Otabek gave Yuri the silent space he needed. How he had managed to always know when to touch Yuri or comfort him or pull back, Yuri would never know. Otabek just always understood at a molecular level. </p><p>“I’m not ashamed,” Yuri continued after a few moments. “About my job. I’m good at what I do.” </p><p>“I know. I would never in a million years judge you or anyone else, Yura.” </p><p>Yuri hummed, a sad smile on his face. “I know.” They fell back into a companionable silence. Otabek looked over the blonde carefully, trying to take in any other injuries they both may have missed. Other than the occasional shaking of his hands, he seemed to be fine. </p><p>Otabek...felt pretty useless. He wanted to do more to comfort Yuri, but he wasn’t sure what he could do at that point. He knew the firecracker well; he didn’t want to set him off or accidentally make things worse. Yuri would never admit it, but he was vulnerable in that moment. Like a spooked horse, he’d run at the slightest provocation. </p><p>“I can’t begin to imagine the way you’re feeling, Yuri. I hate that I can’t do anything for you. But I can be here to support you in whatever way you want. Maybe that means brainstorming other ways to make money...maybe extra shifts, online stuff, do you have a craft or someth—“ </p><p>“Wait,” Yuri interrupted, squinting at Otabek. “Online stuff?” </p><p>“Yeah—camming, pictures, that kind of thing.” The look they shared revealed their simultaneous realization: Yuri could do everything he did now from the comfort of his bedroom and still get paid. </p><p>“Otabek...that’s kind of fucking brilliant. I just...god, what do I even need to start that? Could I even do that?” </p><p>“You can do whatever you want,” Otabek pointed out. Yuri gazed up at him. He started to realize why his feet brought him to the club after he’d left the motel. Sitting there with his understanding eyes, concern swirled into his furrowed brows, Otabek was calm, collected, and gave a shit about Yuri. For a long time, he’d been someone Yuri thought of as safe; there weren’t many people or places he could think of that made him feel that way. </p><p>Yuri let out a deep sigh. He could almost feel his body deflating as he exhaled; the exhaustion of the night was starting to sink in. He was only delaying the inevitable, now, of going home. He turned to the clock; it was closing in on 4. </p><p>“Shit, it’s so fucking late,” Yuri started. He bit his lip. “Weren’t you done like half an hour ago? What the hell are you doing holed up back here with me, when you could be home passed out by now?” Yuri could feel the demons twisting their way around his thoughts. They’d always try to convince him he wasn’t worth much of anything to anyone. </p><p>They all but dissipated when Yuri felt Otabek’s hand on his own. </p><p>“Because I care about you, Yura, and you had a fucked up night. I wouldn’t leave you here by yourself. Not a chance.” Yuri blinked, watching the slightest redness burn on Otabek’s cheeks. The older man’s eyes began to shift, and Yuri smirked. </p><p>“Bekaaaa~” Yuri crooned, poking his cheek. “You liiiiike me.” </p><p>Otabek let a small smile find itself to his face. He moved to grab Yuri’s hand that poked his cheek. </p><p>“Yes. I do.” </p><p>It was the Russian’s turn to turn a bright shade of pink, his heart pounding in his chest. In a definitely not failed attempt to regain his composure, he snickered, replying, “Yeah, well, I like you too, or whatever, but it’s late and we should go home.” </p><p>Otabek chuckled and nodded, standing. Yuri got up as well, one arm across his torso and the other smoothing his hair behind his ear. He looked up at the same time Otabek looked down at him. Leaning into the impulse, Yuri stretched forward, wrapping his arms around Otabek’s neck. The older man reciprocated, gripping Yuri tightly when Yuri squeezed. Sniffling and wiping away an errant tear, Yuri pulled back, smiling quickly up at him before they gathered their things to leave. </p><p> </p><p>--- </p><p> </p><p>Back at the front of the house, the remaining staff were milling around, cleaning up to close for the night. Yuri waited off to the side, hands in his hoodie pocket and hood pulled over his head once again, as Otabek chatted with Georgi about the next week’s schedule. </p><p>He glanced out the front door, and another pang of panic hit him. </p><p>The lull of the moments backstage with Otabek had eased some of Yuri’s anxiety, but now, facing the idea of having to go outside, to return home, Yuri began to panic. He had no idea if this creep had followed him back here and was waiting to follow him home, or if he somehow had Yuri’s address, or if he’d show up at the club again, and–</p><p>Otabek appeared at Yuri’s side. “Hey,” he said, gently, so as not to startle the blonde. “You ready to go?” </p><p>Yuri swallowed, looking up at Otabek. The older man could see the fear in his eyes. He spoke again before Yuri had the chance to get anything out. </p><p>“Would you like me to give you a ride home?” </p><p>Yuri closed his eyes, sighed, and nodded. He hoped this would convey his appreciation for the offer.</p><p>Because as much as he would have liked to think they were, things weren’t okay. Yuri knew things would be different now, as much as he hated it. He knew he’d be more on edge, more likely to find himself dreading his work instead of enjoying it. He would have to find ways to move forward. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t alone in this–hell, he’d even likely be able to get Victor involved, getting the customer banned and the security guards on alert to make sure he never showed his face again. </p><p>And as an arm slung gently around his shoulders, a silent ‘I’ve got you’ in a warm side embrace, Yuri knew that one day, things might even be okay again.</p>
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